THE GOSSIPERS.
The low place where Milford hoed the young corn was not far from Mrs.
Stuvic's, and more than once during the forenoon he went to the top of
the rise and looked toward the house. He saw George out in the road,
teaching his wife to ride a wheel, saw the Dutch girl driving the
turkeys out of the garden, heard the old woman shout for the pony-cart
to take her to the town of Waukegan, but saw nothing of the young woman
who had filled his sleep with dreams. He returned to his work, chopping
the stubborn clods, the heat growing fiercer with the approach of noon,
the wet land steaming. Of a sudden, he cursed his hoe, and threw it from
him. "But I've got to do it," he said, and resumed his labor. George
came across the field.
"Well, sir," said he, "I didn't go back to town this morning as I laid
out to do, and now I'm like a fish out of water. Just as I got ready to
go, my wife misunderstood something I said, and then it was all off. A
man's a fool to leave his wife with a misunderstanding in her head.
Everything ought to be smoothed over before he goes. One morning, not
long ago, I scolded the boy at the breakfast table, and he was crying
when I left the house. I got on the car and tried to read a newspaper,
but couldn't. And, sir, I hopped off the car, took another one back,
and made it up with him. He had forgotten all about it, but I hadn't. We
were all pretty well stirred up over the 'peach' last night. Got caught
out in the rain, and we thought the doctor's wife would have a fit. And
at the breakfast table this morning, she gave an account of herself. Oh,
she's straightforward. She said you entertained her with a fire."
"A flash in the pan," said Milford.
"Well, I don't know as to that, for when there's a flash in the pan
there's no report, but I guess you'll hear report enough when you meet
those women over at the house. They've made a love affair out of
it--they say you're treating a certain young woman shamefully. Oh,
they've got it all fixed up to suit themselves. They told the 'peach'
you were engaged, and that she's wrong to encourage you."
"The devil they did!" Milford shouted. "What right have they got to
presume----"
"It's not presuming on the part of a woman, my dear fellow; it's a
natural conclusion. The girl couldn't say a thing. She stammered, and
finally she stormed. She said it was nothing to her if you were engaged
to a thousand women. She threatened to leave, and then the women
apologized. And about that time I decided that I wouldn't go to town
to-day."
"I'll go over there," said Milford.
"No, don't do anything of the sort, not while you're mad. It's all right
now."
"No, it's not all right, but I want to tell you that I'll make it all
right."
"Now, don't go on getting hot. The thing was a joke, and is all smoothed
over. It arose out of pity for the other young woman."
"Confound it! there isn't any other woman."
"That's all right; that's what I told them. No other woman, of course
not. There never is. Well, I'll be off. I go at twelve forty-five."
George trudged off over the clods, and Milford stood looking after him,
a dark scowl on his face. Those miserable women, not half so innocent as
blanketed squaws drooling about a camp-fire. And that slim Mrs.
Blakemore, lithe as a viper, had inspired it all. How could a refined
woman be so full of the devil's poisonous juice? In his humble way, he
had tried to help her out of a trouble. Tired, and with every bone
aching, he had fought off sleep to make good his word with her. Wasp!
she had stung him. It was nearly noon, and he went to the house to make
fat meat hiss in a hot pan. He sat brooding over the table when Mitchell
came in. "Are you stalled in sight of the stable?" the hired man asked,
seeing that Milford had not begun to eat.
"I'm down to the hub in a rut."
"Prize out," said Mitchell, sitting down.
"That's right, I guess; only thing I can do. Shove that hog down this
way. How are you getting along over there?"
"Be done by night. Rain put the ground in pretty good fix. You about
done?"
"Yes. I'll plow this afternoon."
"Say, Bill, what are divorces worth?"
"Divorces? I never bought one."
"Well, it looks to me like I ought to get one pretty cheap under the
circumstances. Wife ran away."
"Yes, they ought to give you a good discount. Don't you think you'd
better get two while you're at it? You might need another one after a
while."
"No, I guess one'll be about enough."
"Generally, when a man is looking for a divorce, he wants to marry
again. Have you got any such notion?"
"Well, I know a woman that would make a man a mighty good livin'. She
ain't putty; she's as freckled as a turkey egg, but she's a hustler from
'way back. I could bring her here. You could board with us. She's a
rattlin' cook; and she's got land. What do you say?"
"I say you are a scoundrel?"
"Oh, that's all right; I'm a man. But I don't see anythin' wrong in it.
She's a woman, and if it ain't right for a woman to keep house, then I
don't know what it is right for her to do. She wants to marry, and I
don't see that anybody is kickin' up much dust around her. What do you
say?"
"I told you what I said."
"Yes, you said I was a scoundrel, and there hain't been any argument
raised on that p'int. What do you say about her comin'?"
"She'll not come while I'm here; I'll tell you that."
"That's all you need to tell me. I'm a good scuffler, but I know when
I'm flung down. You didn't see the Professor's daughter when you was
over there, did you?"
"Is she the woman?"
"That I'm thinkin' of marryin'? Not much! Willie bows to her and passes
on. She reminds me of a blue heron, and the wind whistles when she
passes."
"How did you happen to mention her?"
"Oh, she flew into my head--so different from my woman. I know'd the
Professor when he tried to keep boarders over near Antioch. Talked his
house empty. Took up a tramp that had book sense, and kept him till the
old woman drove him off. It took more than a hint to get rid of him. She
throw'd his wallet and stick out into the road. He picked 'em up, and
went back into the house to argy Scripture with the Professor. Then she
flew at him with a fire-shovel, and he hulled out. What makes you so
glum on women, Bill?"
"What makes a dog so glum on cats?"
"There must be somethin' wrong, sure enough, when you put it that way.
What's wrong?"
"Oh, they've raised hell over at the house."
"The women have? Well, that's their business, Bill; that's their trade."
"I guess you're right," Milford replied, with a laugh. He got up, took
down his pipe, and went out for a half-hour's smoke on the grass, in the
shade of the walnut tree. The smoke soothed him. Tobacco may be a great
physical enemy, he argued, but a briar-root pipe is the most trustworthy
timber for president of a peace society. Why are women so unforgiving?
Because they do not smoke. Why was James the First a pedantic ass?
Because he wrote a pamphlet against tobacco. Milford lay back in a
forgiving muse. Perhaps, after all, the slim woman had not been so much
at fault. She had too much sympathy to be very strong, and it is manly
to forgive a woman's weakness; it is, at least, manly to acknowledge to
ourselves that we do. It is also manly to hold a slight grudge as a
warning against a recurrence of the offense. Milford would hold a
grudge, and show it by sulking. He would keep himself apart from them
during the week, and on Sunday he would walk high-headed past the house.
This was a sound and respectable resolution, and he smiled upon his own
resources. It took occasion to inspire a plan. And the woman who did not
care whether he were engaged to a thousand women? He would--of course,
he would speak to her, but with distinct reserve. However, some time
must pass before he would give any of them a chance to speak to him.
A boy came up through the orchard and halted at the garden fence.
Milford asked him what was wanted. "They are going to have some music
over at Mrs. Stuvic's to-night, and they told me to come over and tell
you to be sure and come."